Reactions
by High-Functioning Ginger
Summary: So John and Sherlock. Sherlock and John. Together as a couple - officially. How will everyone react to that? Gratuitous humor and fluff mingled with crime-scenes and deductions. Will include Mrs. Hudson,Molly,Mycroft, The Yarders, blog readers and more! Sequel to Getting Tedious. *On Hiatus*
1. Mrs Hudson

_**AN: This is a sequel fic to my story Getting Tedious. It will be focused on the reactions of friends/co-workers/family to the news of their relationship. I'm not exactly sure how many chapters there will be but I'm guessing 6-7. I'll be updating weekly – but probably no more than that because I have another multi-chp fic going and life is getting busy. Anyway- let me know what you think! I want to ensure I keep everyone IC so please let me know if I slip up.**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock. Until he does so I own nothing.**

Mrs. Hudson was the first to find out about their relationship.

Well maybe "find out" isn't quite the right term because that implies she's learning something she didn't already know. More like she had her suspicions confirmed.

Yeah, that's a better way of putting it.

It was around 10:00 on Monday morning and she knew they were due back soon. It's only been two days, but she missed her boys. They were a bit like sons to her and whenever they were gone the building seemed so empty and quiet. She misses the flurry and energy of the two of them dashing about solving crimes. She chuckles to herself at the thought; maybe she's been spending too much time around Sherlock.

She is sipping on her tea, trying to read the morning paper. I say trying because she's really to anxious to focus and half of her attention is directed outside so that she will hear the cab when they arrive. As the clock ticks towards 10:05 she hears the distinct hum of a cab pulling up in front of the building. They're back!

Hurriedly she pulls on a sweater, because it is rather chilly out and slips into her shoes, then rushes to the door as quickly as her troublesome hip will allow. She can hear the muffled din of their familiar voices as she fumbles to unlock the door.

Upon opening it she spots John paying the driver with an amiable smile and thanking him. Sherlock is busy opening the trunk and hauling their bags from it. She steps out onto the sidewalk to greet them and John catches sight of her giving her a smile in greeting. "Hey Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock gives her a friendly sort of nod in her direction as his greeting. He closes the truck and slings the two duffle bags over his shoulders with the intention of heading inside. John moves towards him, hand extended saying "I'll get my own bag, love." The endearment slips out so thoughtlessly and rolls of the tongue so easily you can tell it's a habit. One that's been very recently formed though. John thinks nothing of it, hardly aware of what he said as he takes his bag from Sherlock, swinging it over his good shoulder. He's not aware of Sherlock's small satisfied smile upon hearing the word and the warm look he gives John either.

Mrs. Hudson notices it immediately though lets out a little "Oooh!" of delight. This is something she'd been waiting for. Unable to contain herself anymore she abandons her place upon the sidewalk and rushes forwards arms outstretched. She grabs them both, one in each arm, gushing happily. "Oh finally, you two! I knew it, I just knew it!" she squeals to their mutual displeasure. I mean have you ever had someone squeal in your ear? It's worse than nails on a chalkboard. To John's surprise Sherlock doesn't say anything though. But perhaps he's too busy trying to breath. Mrs. Hudson is surprisingly strong and is currently squeezing them; continuing with her delighted dialogue. "I'm so happy for the two of you. Oh, you're just so perfect for each other." She's finally released them and is now gesturing animatedly as she expounds upon their marvelous qualities.

"John, you know how much Sherlock needs someone to look after him. Being a doctor and all you take such good care of him. And being a soldier you can protect him." Sherlock's irritation towards her is becoming palatable, even she realizes it. Trying to appease him, she adds "And Sherlock is just as good for you of course. He's so intelligent and adventurous. ". This of course is not helping because they simply want her to shut-up so they can go inside.

Sensing that Sherlock's patience is wearing thin John's tries to calm her and move towards the door. However she is far too ecstatic to note the warning signs and listen .Instead she continues to ramble happily "I can't wait to tell Ms. Turner next door about you two. I suppose you won't need the second bedroom anymore? Oh, of course, such a foolish quest-" And finally Sherlock's had enough. John has to of course, but Sherlock takes action first.

"Ms. Hudson!" comes his trademark bark. It stops her in her tracks; per usual. She simply stands there look sheepish and Sherlock takes advantage of her silence saying

"Yes. John and I are now romantically involved. We are also rather tired. If you don't mind we would like to go into our flat and have some tea and rest! You can blither about or relationship in your own flat." Mrs. Hudson fumbles, apologizing and retreating inside. "Oh of course dears. I'm sorry, I'm sure you're absolutely spent after the case and travel. I just don't know when to stop sometimes."

John feels a little sorry for her, because she does mean well. However he is thankful she's finally calmed down and although he's reluctant to admit it; Sherlock's method, although a bit harsh, is effective. And she really should be used to it by now. When they're inside she scurries into her room, saying "I'll whip up a bit of breakfast for you two." They exchange a look as they ascend the stairs, because they would rather be left alone so they can relax. However they know that there is no use in arguing with Mrs. Hudson when she gets in one of her "Mother Hen" moods.

So they make no objections. When she arrives fifteen minutes later she finds John brewing tea and Sherlock scanning the paper, looking for their next potential case. Life in 221B doesn't seem very different to her at all even though they are a couple now. But she supposes that's because they've always been a couple.

**If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway**

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	2. Mycroft

_**AN: Hey guys, sorry about the update delay! But here is a longer chapter to compensate. Let me know what you think!**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the right to Sherlock. Until he does so I own nothing**.

"Wohoo!" the knock and the call broke through the quiet of the flat.

It was mid-morning and they hadn't had a client or case for the past three days. Of course they had their relationship to occupy them; but there really isn't much to be said about that.

Everything remained rather status quo for the two of them, save the fact that they're openly affectionate with each other. Well I say affectionate. John's got the hang of it quite well, using endearments more often than Sherlock's name and giving him multiple quick kisses throughout their day.

Sherlock isn't catching on quite as fast. He thinks the usage of endearments are sentimental and frivolous, or so he says. John however knows better because he sees the small smile that Sherlock can't suppress whenever he ends his sentences with "Love" or "Dear" instead of "Sherlock". But Sherlock refuses to use them on John, which is fine by him.

Sherlock is better on showing affection than saying it and in small ways is beginning to express it to John. He makes tea in the mornings and has gone shopping on one occasion. He snuggles close to John whenever they watch telly and doesn't protest when John takes his hand if they're out. But John's learned that though it's all nice and good, it really is unnecessary. He always thought romance was the only way to show someone the depth of how much they mean to you and he's employed it continually in this new phase with Sherlock.

But Sherlock, true to form, has proven him wrong. Sherlock doesn't initiate contact or use sentimental phrases. Doesn't buy him things or take him to dinner. He simply doesn't do romance, yet John doesn't find himself feeling unloved or questioning their relationship. This is because he can see it, quite literally in Sherlock's eyes. I know that sounds horribly cliché, but please bear with me. I don't mean that there is newfound warmth in his gaze or that his love for John shines through. What I mean is the fact that he always watches John. If he's sipping tea, Sherlock watches. If he's reading in the evening or updating his blog, Sherlock watches. And that is how he knows.

Sherlock devotes mental time and energy to him, a lot of it. And when he asked Sherlock why he always watched him Sherlock simply answered "You're interesting." That's the highest compliment John can imagine Sherlock giving him and it means more to him than any number of pet-names or I love you's.

Since they have nothing to entertain them and Sherlock is quickly approaching boredom John suggests a game. Cluedo was a nightmare, but he thinks something else might work to occupy Sherlock for a bit. So they decided on chess and were twenty three minutes into the game, with Sherlock in the lead of course, when Mrs. Hudson knocked.

"Come in." John called, as Sherlock was too busy contemplating his next move to bother. "You boys have got a package." She says, placing it inside the door. "I found it on the stoop when I stepped out to go shopping. Anything you need?" Mrs. Hudson always offers. "No thanks." John says, almost automatically. He's not really sure if hey do need anything, but he hates to ask Mrs. Hudson to do things for them. He can handle shopping.

She nodded and stepped back out, shutting the door behind her. Sherlock meanwhile had made his move and sits back in his chair, drawling lazily "Checkmate." John just rolls his eyes and flicks his king over. He didn't expect anything different, though it would've been nice to say he beat Sherlock at something. He scoops the pieces off the board and into the box, whilst Sherlock groans "Bored".

"Well let's see what this package is then." John says, picking it up off the floor.

"No return address, wonder that it's from." "Mycroft." Sherlock answers, sounding irritable and John doesn't bother asking how he knows. "What would he send us?"

John wonders aloud as he heads for the kitchen table, where the scissors are. Sherlock is uninterested, per usual with anything to do with his brother and snatches up his violin, playing a few melodic notes before proceeding into one of his compositions.

John gets the box open and is surprised and confused to find a chemistry book inside.

He opens it and on the cover is written in neat, precise scrawl

_Bon Appetit.11:15 MH_

"Sherlock?" John questions, hoping he will be able to clear things up. Sherlock doesn't respond though, just continues playing. "Sherlock come look at this. He sent us a book." This seems to pique Sherlock interest, as he puts down the violin and turns to look at John. "A book?" he inquires with a raised eyebrow. "Yep. Chemistry book. You going to explain it?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes "When I was young, probably around thirteen, Mummy told me that I would never have a romantic attachment with if I didn't learn to temper my deductions, it scared people off. I told her I would rather eat my chemistry book than have a romantic attachment anyway. Mycroft, who was in on the conversation as well, told me that I was being foolish and one day it would change. I argued that I was quite serious and that if he proved right he could have the pleasure of reminding me one day of my proclamation. At the time I never thought he would get the chance. Apparently I was wrong." Sherlock grumbles the last sentence, reluctant to admit such a thing aloud.

John stared off fighting a laugh at Sherlock's explanation and ended shaking his head in exasperation. "You two take sibling rivalry way too far." Sherlock doesn't respond and come over to John, holding violin and bow in one hand and taking the book from John with the other. He flips it open and scans the note with a huff of irritation.

"He can't just leave us be can he?" "What do you mean?" "He's dropping by. That's what 11:15 means." "Oh. Unusually considerate of him to give us notice before dropping by." "I'm sure he just wanted to make sure he didn't interrupt anything." John reddens a bit at Sherlock words, protesting "But how does he know anyway? I know you haven't told him and I haven't even seen him in over a month."

Sherlock gives him a smile that looks strangely pitying as if to say _"Are you really so vacant?"_ "What?" John demands at his smile. Sherlock just broaden his smile into a smug grin.

"Well he'll be here soon, so let's prepare the flat for our visitor." "Prepare the flat? What are you on about?" "Just going to have a bit of fun with my dear brother." "Sherlock?" John questions, and there is a distinctly warning tone to it as if say _"I don't know what you're up to, but you'd better behave."_

Sherlock ignore him however and sets to work. He ruffles cushion and removes books from the shelves, tossing them on the floor. John watches in utter bemusement as Sherlock ascended the stairs to their shared room and hears him rattling through drawers. When Sherlock returns downstairs with miscellaneous articles of clothing and begins scattering them about the flat he begins to realize what Sherlock's up to.

"No." John protests firmly, trying to take the handful of clothing from Sherlock.

"No what?" Sherlock inquires, eyes widening in well-practiced innocence.

"You know perfectly well. You're trying to make it look like we've..." John trails off, fighting a blush. He snatches the clothes from Sherlock, turning away trying to cover his embarrassment. "Like we've been?" Sherlock questions, with a decidedly smug undertone in his voice. "You know damn well what the rest of that sentence was."

"But I don't. I can't read minds." Sherlock protests, struggling against his smugness to maintain his innocent façade.

John doesn't respond and instead attempts to straighten up the flat. Sherlock lets out an exaggerated groan and flops down on the couch shooting John with a petulant glare.

John's pulling a shirt of Sherlock's and a pair of his pants from the stair case when Mycroft enters. At the sight of John collecting the scattered clothing he quirks and eyebrow and drawls in his classic urbane manner "Perhaps I should've given more warning. You've obviously had a rushed morning trying to clear away evidence of your... activities." "Just shut up." Joh growls at him, shooting irritated glares at both the Holmes brothers. Mycroft eyes widen very slightly in surprise at Johns unusually gruff treatment.

John disappears upstairs, dumping the clothes on the bed while Mycroft settles into his chair; and by his I mean John's. Strangely enough that's where he always chooses to sit whenever he comes to visit, though John isn't sure why. Upon returning downstairs he finds the brothers in one of their trademark stare-downs.

"You're quite sure there is nothing you wish to share with me Sherlock?" Mycroft inquires. "Well you already know obviously." "True. However, I would appreciate the brotherly courtesy of hearing it from you own mouth. I know this is new to you, but you generally inform those close to you when you've entered into a romantic relationship." "Those close to me? How does that include you?"

"Tea?" John offers, deciding it's time to step in. "Yes, please." Mycroft accepts and Sherlock just nods. John puts the kettle on to boil, while silence reigns between the two brothers.

John's not sure if he prefers the sharp jibes or the cold glares that the two seem to alternate exchanging. As he's adding sugar to Mycroft's tea he hears the screeching of the violin. Wonderful, now Sherlock's trying to drive him from the flat, with the _"music"_ growing higher pitched and more obnoxious by the note.

"Sherlock!" John snaps as he re-enters the living room. Sherlock quirks an irritated eyebrow at him. "Tea." is John's response as he distributes the warm beverage, which he hopes will calm things a bit. "Thank you John. As you've no doubt heard, Sherlock refuses to tell me what the two of you have been up to. Perhaps you would like to enlighten me with your happy announcement?" Mycroft suggests, with a sly allusion to their very first meeting. "Yes John, tell my nosy brother what he already knows." Sherlock snarls. John just sinks into the couch, sipping his tea, basically saying _"I'm staying out of this."_

After sitting in silence for a few moments, Mycroft admits defeat.

He stands saying "Alright then. If you wish to act like a child I shall treat you as one. You may expect a phone call from Mummy soon. I'm sure she will be delighted to hear of you're boyfriend."

Sherlock's pride won't allow him to shout a frantic "No!" at Mycroft's threat; instead he returns his smug glance coolly, seeming unaffected. Obviously disappointed at Sherlock's lack of reaction he twirls him umbrella, which is his form of tipping a hat, and leaves.

Once he's gone and the sounds of his footsteps have faded Sherlock lets out a groan. "You going to tell me what that was all about?" John inquires, confused and exasperated by the pair of them. "That was about Mycroft saying 'I told you so' " Sherlock snaps.

"Okay then. So your pride wouldn't let you confirm our relationship because it meant admitting he was right?" "Yes." Is Sherlock's petulant response.

"And what about the phone call from Mummy?" "He's going to tell her about our relationship." "And you don't want that?" "If I want her to know I will tell her." "What do you mean 'if'? You don't want her to know about us?" "Not yet. I'd like some peace before having to contend with the chaos." "I think you're being a bit dramatic. What sort of chaos can possibly come from your mum knowing you've got a boyfriend?"

"Well first she will insist on meeting you, throw a party." "So far I don't see the problem." "No, I suppose you don't." And Sherlock flings onto the couch, going into his sulk mode.

"Sherlock." John protests. No response. "Sherlock would you cut it out. It's not my fault your brother's a git." Again no response, but he swears he can feel Sherlock smirking at the fact the he called Mycroft a 'git', despite the fact Sherlock's turned the other way.

Ping!

The sound comes from Sherlock's phone on the table and in an instant he's leapt from the couch, snatched up his phone, scanning the text.

He's gone from petulant and sulky to animated and ecstatic in half a second. Even after all the time John has spent with Sherlock he's still amazed and amused by the drastic changes in him. Strangely it's exasperating and endearing at the same time. An odd combination and something only Sherlock can manage.

"A murder and a suicide linked to a jewelry thief with an encoded note!" Sherlock crows in utter delight. "This is fantastic!" he grabs John by the shoulders, kisses him soundly upon the lips and dashes out the door. It takes John a moment to recover himself and then he dashes out behind Sherlock calling for him "To put some proper clothes on!" because it really wouldn't be good if he showed up at a crime scene in that ridiculous dressing gown.

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	3. The Yard

_**AN: And here is chapter three! Sorry about the wait – but you can expect this updating schedule for a while. Life is busy. Enjoy!**_

**Disclaimer: I'm praying to Santa to bring me the rights to Sherlock. Until he does so I own nothing.**

John managed to wrangle Sherlock back upstairs to change into proper clothes; but only after reminding him of the press that always hangs close to crime scene.

"So unless you want to become known for wearing a dressing gown along with the deerstalker..." at those words Sherlock swirled quickly back inside and up the stairs.

He came down just a few moments later in a smart button up shirt, jeans and his trademark coat/scarf combo, looking like the World's Only Consulting Detective.

Sherlock hailed them a cab and they climbed in. "Scotland Yard." he requested.

"Wait, we aren't going to a crime scene?" John inquires, confused.

"Apparently not. Lestrade asked me to come down to the Yard." "But why? You need to see the crime scene if you're going to deduce anything." Sherlock shrugs "How am I supposed to account for what goes on in his feeble mind?"

John doesn't bother reprimanding him for the slight at Lestrade. He's learned to pick his battles and the only time he scolds Sherlock for insulting someone now is if they are in hearing range. Unless they're Donovan or Anderson, in which case he just tries not to smile.

The rest of the cab ride is silent with Sherlock sorting through his mental data-base looking over all the cases of jewel robbery he is familiar with.

Nothing is original in the world of crime and he's sure that he will have a past case as a point of reference for working this one.

John's thoughts are occupied in an entirely different manner. This will be the first case they've worked as an official couple. He is tempted for a moment to point this out to Sherlock but quickly disregards the idea, realizing that Sherlock wouldn't understand why they should be concerned with something as trivial as their new romantic status when they have something as important as the case to focus on.

"Honestly John, why are you occupying your thoughts with such rubbish? This is the Work and it's all that matters right now. The Work remains unaffected by us and our new relationship status." the deep rumbling voice breaks through his thoughts.

He has a moment of relief at Sherlock's reassurance before realizing that Sherlock has just read his thoughts. "What?" he demands, incredulous, confused and of course, impressed by Sherlock's newest talent.

"Did you expect anything different John? It's not as if we're going to stroll into Scotland Yard holding hands. We've already established that we've functioned as couple for a while now and therefor-" "No. Stop." John cuts off. "How did you know what I was thinking?" "Simple observation." "Simple? Sherlock you just read my mind! How is that simple?"

Sherlock lets out a long breath of mingled exasperation and reluctant acceptance of the fact that he will have to give an explanation. "I did not read your mind John. I read your body - language." he tacks the word on at the end seeing John flush at his phrasing.

"I'm aware that your mental energy has been almost entirely consumed by our new relationship since it began. I've known you long enough to know how your mind works and what sorts of issue occupy it.

When we got the call for the case your expression was one of standard excitement and your reaction per usual until we got in the cab and settled into silence. Generally when we are on a ride to a case your gaze travels about as you attempt to find mundane ways to occupy your mind. Your expression is often glazed over.

This time however your gaze rests intently out the window and your brow is slightly furrowed indicating your focusing on something important. Also you were flexing your left hand, which indicates you're stressed over something.

There are only two possible things you could be so fixated upon.

One would be the case, which you often brood over when we've reached a wall, however we have very little information on the case and you always prefer to wait until after I've gathered my deduction to being theorizing.

Therefore the remaining topic would be our relationship. Now you've already had several days to adjust to our new status so there must be some new factor that's been added for it to occupy you so intently. The only new factor is the fact that we have a case. Therefore you must be wondering how it will be affected. I was reassuring you it will change nothing."

John listened to this discourse with a look of disbelief on his face. It was a look Sherlock missed. John had become a bit desensitized to his deductions. He still found them amazing and was quick with an exclamation of that amazement when Sherlock solved a case, but it was a much milder reaction. This uncensored disbelief and wonderment was something he savored on the occasions it was granted to him.

John recovered speech after a few moments. "Right then. I guess I can follow how you did that, but bloody hell Sherlock it's amazing." Sherlock gives a shrug, feigning nonchalance and redirects his gaze out the window, hiding the smirk that has overtaken his features.

They arrive at the Yard, Sherlock leaping from the cab and heading straight for Lestrade's office and John settles the cab fare as usual. When he's done he heads inside and goes straight for Lestrade's office as well.

On his way down the hall Donovan catches sight of him "And where is Freak this morning? Couldn't be bothered to come down himself?" she brushes past without waiting for an answer. "In Lestrade's office actually. They've called him in on the stolen jewelry case." he calls after. She half turns back to him, eyebrow upraised.

"Well we've got this one well under control. We don't need his help" she snips. John just smiles "Obviously not." and continues down the hall.

He opens the door and finds Sherlock sitting, glaring at Lestrade, who has his head buried in his hands. Not a good sign. He looks up at the sound of John entering muttering "Thank god." "Greg." he greets, though it holds a question as well. "Morning John." he returns.

"I was just filling Sherlock in on the case and-" "Yes and it turns out the Yard is even more incompetent than previously suspected." Sherlock cuts in. "Alright, what's this about?" John asks, looking between them.

"These pathetic excuses for-" "Sherlock." John cuts him off warningly.

"Facts not insults please." "The insults are a fact." is Sherlock's witty retort.

John finds himself fighting the part of his brain that is saying "You've got to admit that was clever" and focused on restoring order to this working relationship.

"Sherlock stop being a smart arse and just tell me what they've done."

"They cleaned up the crime scene!" he snaps. "What?" John asks, rounding on Lestrade in confusion. "Can you just sit down and I'll explain." he requests, tiredly and gestures to a chair.

"Two weeks ago a necklace was stolen from Mr. Timothy Strackland. It was a family heirloom that his great-grandfather dug up in Egypt on an archaeological dig. Worth at least a million.

Mr. Strackland was shot during the robbery. Didn't seem like anything unusual. We had a lead on the thief, so yes we cleaned up the crime scene."

"And you're calling us in on a crime that's two weeks old?" John demands, incredulously. He can see why Sherlock is miffed. "Now hang on." Lestrade protests "If you'll just let me finish." Sherlock gives an impatient gesture for him to continue.

" We tracked our lead down to a James Dixon. Went to his flat with a warrant, kicked in the door and found him dead with a bottle of pills in his hand."

Sherlock's petulant glare is gone and has been replaced by a look of interest and subtle excitement. "Were the jewels there?" "No. Then it starts to get weirder. Turns out Mr. Strackland has a sister who was put into a witness protection program. She got wrapped up in a drug ring almost a decade ago. Was the main witness for the trial and got the ringleader locked away. Several of the members walked free though and she feared for her life. Gave her a new name, Linda Robinson, and a new life in America. We just got the call this morning that she's gone missing. Dropped off the radar completely. She sent a letter to her brother two days before she disappeared. It doesn't make any sense at all and the fact that she sent it after his murder is even weirder. Seemed like the time to get you involved."

John listened to the detail and it seems that the threads are all rather tangled, though signs clearly pointed to the drug ring as suspects. "But why would the thief commit suicide. He just hit the jackpot." he wondered aloud. Lestrade shrugged. "That's what you're here for."

Sherlock is silent, fingers drumming lightly upon the arm of his chair immersed in his mind. John can practically hear the gears turning. Well maybe that's not really the right analogy. More like the whirr of a sorting machine in a mail room. Sorting the data into different files with different destination based on it relevance and connection with other pieces.

"Did Mr. Strackland have all the contact information on his sister? " he asked suddenly after several moments of silence. "Yeah." Lestrade answers, looking slightly confused at Sherlock's question. "Mhmmm" is Sherlock's only response.

Then he leapt from his chair, moving around the back of Lestrade's desk and whisking a box off the top of his file cabinet. "Sherlock!" Lestrade cried in protest.

"What? I need to see the case files." he says, slipping the top off and fingering through the paper. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew that was the file." he mutters under his breath. John shoots him an apologetic look, which he shrugs off. He's worked with Sherlock long enough that he can handle the minor irritations. It's well worth the hassle.

"Right. You boys look over that. I'm going to grab some coffee. Want any?" "No." comes Sherlock's clipped response. "No thanks." comes John's politer answer.

Lestrade nods and turns to leave, when Sherlock draws his attention back saying

"Do congratulate Sally for me though. She won." Lestrade looks at John with bemusement, obviously hoping he can clear it up. John shrugs, waiting for Sherlock's punch- line which he is sure will go something like "She won the idiot of the year award and Anderson came close in second."

Instead Sherlock raises his head from the files with a smirk saying " She should be able to buy a rather nice dress with her winnings from when I last saw the amount in the pool." Lestrade's eyes grasp onto their look of confusion for another moment before they widen in surprise.

John is still confused as hell. "What?" he inquires, but it's lost amongst Lestrade's stuttering "What in - I mean, how do you?" "Did you really think we wouldn't notice?" Sherlock counters with a grin.

""Notice what!" John snaps, disliking the fact that he's the only one who has no idea what they're talking about. "The betting pool John." Sherlock answers, as if it's obvious. "What bet?" he demands, though just as the words escaped his mouth the answer dawns on him. Oh god no.

Rounding angrily on a sheepish Lestrade he shouts "You were betting on us! On when we would become a couple?" Lestrade tries for an apologetic reply but John has already moved on to Sherlock "And you knew! You've known, for who knows how long and you didn't tell me!"

Unruffled by John's rare, yet trademark rage fit he shrugs saying "About three months. Not sure how long it's been going, but I would guess at least five." "And a half." Lestrade tacks on, sheepishly.

John looks between the two of them, apparently undecided on who he should direct his anger. Before he can reach a decision Lestrade cuts in "Look I'm sorry guys. It was just meant as a bit of fun at first. Just between me and Donovan and a few others. We got onto the topic at the pub one night. Then it just got carried away, especially with the press feeding stories about you two..." he trails off, looking hopefully at John, gauging his reaction.

"You should've said something." he grumbles at Sherlock, still angry but calming.

"I don't see why I should have. It's not as if it was of any importance." he answers with a shrug. John considered the situation for a moment and lets out a sigh, signifying that he's going to let the matter rest.

"Fine." he mutters, and Lestrade looks relieved.

"Tell Donovan she owes me a cup of coffee or something though." he adds as Lestrade exists the office. He grins "Will do. And congratulations, by the way." John acknowledges this with a smile, before turning back to Sherlock.

He's already absorbed in the case files, spreading them upon Lestrade's desk and muttering to himself as he sorts through them. John joins him with a smile and they work together in silence.

**If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway.**

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	4. Suicide or Murder?

_**AN: And here is chp 4! I was supposed to bring Molly into this chp but couldn't fit it in. She should find out in the next one. I will be explaining the case through-out the story so you will have some plot – not just mindless fluff and romance. Hopefully I manage this well as crime plots aren't my strong point and I'm not sure how well I'll pull off Sherlock's deductions. If you've got any requests/recommendations I'm open to them! Also – THANK YOU! To everyone who has favorited/alerted and reviewed!**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock. John does.**

Lestrade returns a few moments later, coffee in hand, with an extremely smug look upon his face, mirth dancing in his eyes. "I hope you took a picture." Sherlock mutters, glancing up, deducing that Lestrade must've told Sally about her winnings.

"No. Thought that would be a bit rude." "You never have any qualms taking picture of me." Sherlock argues. Lestrade grins, saying "True. And you never have any qualms insulting us, so it evens out." Sherlock threw him an exasperated glare, which Lestrade responded to with a smile.

"She says congratulations she guesses and that you must be barmy" he nods towards John, indicating the end of the sentence was meant for him. John just chuckles, because sometimes he agrees. Sherlock grows impatient at their inane exchange and tosses John another file to refocus them on the case.

They scan them in silence for a few moments. "Is this all the information?" Sherlock inquires, breaking the silence. His tone is incredulous and Lestrade gives him a defensive glare as he answers "Yeah." Sherlock opens his mouth, undoubtedly to abrade them for their incompetence, so he quickly adds "The bodies are still at the morgue if you want to take a look at them, though."

Sherlock lets out a soft snort, muttering "I'd rather have seen the crime scene." John and Lestrade both knew better than to try and reason with him at this point, so they simply went back to shuffling through paperwork.

"You know what gets me is the suicide." John comments as he's scanning a file on James Dixon. "Well that's the thing. It's not one." Lestrade responds. Sherlock's head whips up from behind the file he was studying, focusing an intense glare at Lestrade. "Inspector, do you mean to tell me that just minutes ago, when you first explained the case, you gave us the wrong information?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all." Lestrade snaps back. "What I'm saying is that it looks like a suicide, but everything points to a murder made to look like a suicide."

"Oh so now you've moved beyond having incorrect theories based on fact, to making up absurd theories based on nothing. Excellent." Sherlock deadpans, his voice laced with a derisive undertone.

"Sherlock." John warns. Lestrade holds his hand out for a moment, signaling silence.

"I know I'm not the genius in the room, but if you'll just shut your trap for a moment and listen, I think you'll see my point." Sherlock's vexation is palatable, but he remains stonily silent, allowing Lestrade to speak.

"Now everything points to a suicide except for two key points. First off, why would he commit suicide? He has jewels that he'd just stolen and could've cashed in for a nice payout. Second, where are those jewels? They aren't in the house and he couldn't have sold them already, we would've found cash from the transaction. So he had to have been murdered." Lestrade finished his explanation, with a challenging glance.

"But the autopsy reports only show the meds. It's an overdose." John argues, and Sherlock shoots him a grin. "Yeah, but there are poisons that are practically untraceable. I'm thinking Digitalis myself. I'll need them to run specific tests though."

Sherlock raised his hands and begins a slow mocking clap. "Well done, Lestrade. Honestly with brains like this in the Yard it's no wonder I'm not out of the job." "Enough" John snaps, growing weary of his degrading tone. He has to agree that there are some holes in the theory but Sherlock doesn't have to be such a prick about it.

Sherlock concedes and falls silent, not offering his own theory and instead returns to scrutinizing photos of James house when they found him. After a few moments of silence Lestrade gives in with a sigh. "Alright then. What's your theory?" he questions.

Sherlock flashes a quick grin and sets the file aside, saying "James Dixon killed himself and the entire thing is a coincidence." Lestrade threw him a glare, thinking he was being sarcastic again, but it quickly gave way when he saw Sherlock's serious, pensive expression. "You're serious?" John questioned. "A coincidence?" "Positively." Sherlock confirms. "And what evidence do you have to support this theory?" Lestrade challenges.

Sherlock grins, his entire countenance changing to one of smug excitement. "What were your so called 'leads' in making James Dixon a suspect?" he questioned.

"I asked you about your theory, Sherlock." Lestrade argues.

"I know, but I need this information to ensure I'm correct." he answered, with a wave of his hand indicating for Lestrade to explain.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, but did as requested. "He attended the Uni where Mr. Strackland was the librarian. He'd been seen hanging around Mr. Strackland a lot in the past couple of weeks. Apparently that's where he always went after classes and he spent a lot of time asking questions about the necklace. Seemed the most likely candidate.

The break-in had to be someone close to him; otherwise they wouldn't have known he had it or where to look. We went asking around and found that he hadn't been to classes in a week. Seemed like a solid lead."

"Solid as a cloud" snorts Sherlock. "If that's really the way you go about establishing leads its no wonder you always need my assistance. Didn't any of you stop to think?

Just once, why couldn't you use the lumps of grey matter in you skull?"

"And would we have thought?" Lestrade demands, snapping at his degrading tone.

"Oh I don't know, how about _'Why is the paperwork on the sister missing if this kid just wanted jewels?'_. Or -"

Lestrade cuts him off there "What do you mean the paperwork on the sister is missing?"

"Well I'm assuming that it wasn't just gross oversight on the Yards part, but there is no information on her in these files taken from his house. So where are they?"

Lestrade let out a groan, how could they have missed such an obvious and vital piece of information. "There wasn't any." he admitted.

"So who ever broke in was after the paperwork too?" John asks, trying to grasp the implications of this new development. "I suspect that was the only motivation for the break in and the jewels were an unexpected perk." Sherlock explained.

"But why would they want her information?" John wonders aloud as he turns the question over in his mind.

"Is the drug lord she helped put away due for parole any time soon?" Sherlock inquires, working along the same train of thought that John had just reached.

"I - I don't know." Lestrade admitted, obviously dismayed by the number of holes in the case. "Give me a sec, I'll check."

He unburies his laptop from beneath the scattered files and starting it up. Sherlock glances up and suddenly a very devious grin flickers across his face.

"While you're checking up on that, do you mind if John and I borrow your file room?"

They both looked at him in bemusement. "What?" John inquired, whilst Lestrade just shake his head, deciding to ignore Sherlock.

"Well I know the desk would be more comfortable, but there are case files all over it, and someone is less likely to hear us in the file room."

It takes them both a half-second to process what he's implying and when they do both faces flush. A chorus of "Sherlock!" fills the office and a sickened groan comes from the doorway. They turned at the sound to see Anderson, hurrying away with his eye shut tightly against unwelcome mental images.

Sherlock snickers as John and Lestrade turned their eyes back towards him.

"You - you absolute tosser!" John barked out "You knew he was there didn't you?" Lestrade questioned, his face returning to normal color.

"I saw his reflection in the back of your laptop." Sherlock admitted his tone quite smug and coloured with mirth. At his admittance John dissolves into a fit of giggles and it's not long until Lestrade and Sherlock follow.

As the laughter dies down Lestrade can't help but feel a rush of gratitude towards John. He has done wonders, making him more bearable. Sure he's still a pompous git, who's too clever for his own good. But he's not so distant and remote in his interactions with others. He almost seems amiable on occasion.

His computer chimes as it comes on, refocusing them all back to the task at hand, though John is still throwing glances at Sherlock, duly surprised and amused by his antics.

Lestrade runs a quick search through the database and finds that Sherlock has just opened a whole different can of worms. "Rick Alanso, the one she helped put away, is due for parole on the 14th, a week from today."

John lets out a sigh at the news, because this just got more complicated. Sherlock is trying to hide his delight, though he's doing a poor job of it, fidgeting on the balls of his feet and drumming his finger on the desk as he works this new information into his database. "You can jump up and down if you like. I know how you love these kinds of things." Lestrade offers, chuckling when it's met with a glare from Sherlock.

"So hang on, we still haven't cleared up James." John chimes in.

"He was depressed and committed suicide. What is there to clear up?" Sherlock retorts.

"Well how about we start with how you know all this?" Lestrade suggests, gesturing for Sherlock to explain.

Sherlock selects a picture from amongst the piles, holding it up. It shows James Dixon, sprawled out on a couch, pills held loosely by limp fingers and surrounding clutter. Sherlock points to a side table piled with papers, saying "See that envelope on the top?"

"Yeah" they both respond, urging him to continue "It was important to him. Hastily torn open and dropped carelessly. The envelope and font point towards something sort of professional correspondence. There is a photograph along with multiple articles on the table revolving around the same man. A professional archeologist I would assume judging by his dress and the sort of publications." "So he was a role model for the kid. How is that relevant?" Lestrade cuts in. "It's very relevant." Sherlock answers sharply and continues with his explanation.

"If you look here" he moves his fingers, gesturing to a rubbish bin under the side table "You can see were papers have been torn and dumped. One looks like a letter, probably the one from the envelope. The other looks like a plane ticket."

"A ticket?" John questions "Why would he by a ticket before committing suicide?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock grumbles, irritated at their sluggish minds.

When they both give him blank looks he lets out a heavy sigh and explains "The boy applied for a internship with the archeologist in the pictures. A fan, no doubt. He was so confident that he would get it that he bought a ticket so he could depart immediately when he got the acceptance letter. He was rejected however, causing his depression to spiral out of control until he finally killed himself."

"And he just happened to have taken an interest in Mr. Strackland's necklace?" John inquires. Sherlock shrugs "He was an archeology student, specializing in Egyptian artifacts, of course he was interested." John concedes to his theory with a nod.

Lestrade sits back with a sigh "Well there goes our only lead. Now we're back where we started."

"Not exactly." Sherlock argues and Lestrade eyes light up with hope that Sherlock has something for them to work with. "You've got me." He explains with a grin. Lestrade deflates, muttering "Arrogant sod."

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	5. The Crime Scene

_**AN: Sorry about the update delay! I've just been so busy with other stories I'm writing and real life (Boring!). Anywho – I know I said that Molly would find out in this chapter – but it didn't quite fit in. She will absolutely be in the next one – I promise!**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. That honor belongs to John Watson.**

"Do you two want to go to Mr. Strackland's house?" Lestrade offers, after another forty-five minutes spent sorting through the case information. Sherlock's head snaps up from his phone, that he'd been working on for a good fifteen minutes.

"I doubt there's much left after your little forensics and cleaning crew had their parade through it-"

"Sherlock." John cuts him off wearily.

Catching sight of his glare Sherlock concedes and says "Yes, of course we want to see his house. We already know you missed on vital piece of evidence, you might've missed another." And he hops from his perch on the corner of the desk, re-wrapping his scarf.

Lestrade grumbles under his breath and John shoots him an apologetic half-smile. He shrugs it away and they depart, Lestrade heading for an official car John trailing after Sherlock to hail a cab.

Twenty minutes later and they're pulling up to an elegant row of townhomes. John pays the cabbie whilst Sherlock dashes up to find the correct house-number. Lestrade hasn't arrived yet, so they loiter about in the icy afternoon, waiting.

"I could pick the lock." Sherlock offers as he catches sight of John, scrunched up, trying to protect himself from the biting wind.

"No. We'll wait for Lestrade. Should only be a couple minutes behind us." He answers, shuffling from one foot to the other trying to remain warm.

"Honestly John, it not as though we've never broken into a house before." Sherlock argues, exasperated at his persistence.

"True, but I prefer to avoid it when there are other options available, like just waiting." John tosses back, unyielding.

Sherlock lets out a huff, conceding, when he realizes John won't be convinced. He drops his argument and instead moves from his place on the doorstep to stand behind him.

John's too busy trying to keep warm to note Sherlock's change in position and is therefore rather surprised when a pair of warm arms wrap awkwardly around him.

"Sherlock?" he questions at his unusual display of affection.

"Yes John?" Sherlock responds, his voice sounding muffled behind him.

"What're you doing?" he asks, hoping his confusion doesn't come across as unappreciative, because Sherlock's embrace is softening the sharp chill.

"I'm keeping you warm since you refuse to allow me to open the door for us." Sherlock explains, his voice tinged with exasperation.

"Oh. Well – um – thanks." John replies after a moment, before shifting around in Sherlock's embrace so that he can return it. He buries his nose in Sherlock's dark coat, breathing in his crisp smoky scent. Moments like this are rare for them and he savors it.

"I should argue with you more often about this kind of stuff." He murmurs contently against the thick fabric.

"And why is that?" Sherlock questions, his voice coming from atop John's head, where it's resting softly.

"Cause I like the result." He answers, tightening his grip for emphasis.

"Ah." Is Sherlock's only response. The whir of a car and the sound of a door slamming starts him, and he flinches, though Sherlock doesn't release.

"When the two of you are finished can we get on with the crime solving please?" Lestrade inquires, his tone tinged with exasperation and amusement as he approaches them.

Sherlock slowly unwraps his arms from John and shoots Lestrade an irritated glare "It's not my fault that you feel behind." He snips in return and gesture impatiently to the door.

Lestrade looks rather confused as to how his arrival time has anything to do with their hugging, but he lets the matter drop and unlocks the door.

Sherlock enters the house and pauses a few feet from the door. He holds both hand up, demanding silence and stillness as he allows his gaze to sweep the home.

He moves around the living room and kitchen, shifting through things, brushing a gloved finger over the furniture and pausing to sniff the arm of the couch muttering something that sounds like "Floral." Finally he turns to Lestrade and asks "Where was he found?"

"Office" Lestrade answers, gesturing down the hall. Sherlock darts down the hall, both following after.

"Here." Lestrade specifies, pointing to a bookcase against the wall. John recalls the pictures of the man, lying against it, bleeding out on the carpet and books.

Sherlock drops to his knees, examining the bottom of the case, running his hand thoughtfully against the wood.

He pauses when he catches sight of a picture of Mr. Strackland in military uniform on one of the shelves. "You didn't mention his time in service." He reprimands Lestrade.

"Didn't think it was relevant." Lestrade answers, with a shrug.

Sherlock lets out a hiss of irritation "Everything is relevant." He retorts.

His gaze scans the room once more and lands on a reproduction print of van Gogh's Sunflowers hanging over the desk. He grins and climbs upon the desk. "John, I'll require your assistance." He says, beckoning for him to come over.

John comes over, wondering what he's doing, but not asking. Sherlock removes the painting and hands it down to him. He takes it and lays it carefully against the wall and turns to see that Sherlock has revealed a safe behind it.

"Damn." Lestrade mutters under his breath, wondering once again how they missed that.

Sherlock offers a hand to John saying "Would you like to do the honors?"

"You want me to open the safe?" he questions.

"Of course. We need to see what's inside. Might be important." Sherlock says, with a slight grin.

"But we don't know the code." John argues.

"Come now John, with all the time you've spent with me surely you can make an educated guess?" Sherlock prompts.

John lets out a soft sigh, seems Sherlock wants to test him. He thinks back to times he's seen Sherlock crack passwords and codes. They are usually something relevant to the person. He thinks birthday first and tries the combination. No luck. Apparently Mr. Strackland was a bit smarter than that.

He expects Sherlock to grow impatient and step in, but he and Lestrade are simply watching, slight smiles on their faces. A sudden inspiration strikes him "What was his unit number?" he asks.

Sherlock smirk broadens "Oh, very good John." He praises, and rattles of the number from memory. John twists the numbers into the correct combination and the safe open with a clink.

Sherlock rifles through it, mostly papers, until he comes to bottom of the stack, where he finds a small ammo box. He whirls about on the desk and hops off. "Shot with his own gun." Sherlock says, handing the ammo over to Lestrade.

"How do you know that?" Lestrade questions.

Sherlock rolls his eyes and doesn't bother to hide the disdain in his tone when he explains "I read the ballistics report in his file. These match. Since he had them in his safe it means he owned a gun that fired that. So he was shot with his own gun." And with that he disappears down the hall and head for the front door.

John follows quickly after calling "Sherlock, where are you going?"

"I've got all I need to. Now I need to see the bodies." He answers, waiting a moment to allow John to catch up to him.

"We'll call you when we've got something." He tosses back to Lestrade. He waves them away as the exit the house and head for the street.

"St. Bart's. Hospital" Sherlock requests as they climb in the cab. He shoots off a quick text to Molly, letting her know that they're coming and settles back into a thoughtful silence.

"Um Sherlock?" John starts, wanting to talk about something, but unsure if Sherlock will listen.

"I'll behave." Sherlock answers, sparing him a quick smile.

"What?" John questions, confused.

"You were going to warn me about how to act around Molly now that we're a couple. I'm telling you that I won't do or say anything overt about the two of us." He answers, with a dismissive gesture.

"Honestly how do you do that?" John questions, both awed and exasperated by Sherlock's mind reading ability.

"It's a rather facile skill. All you have to do is follow someone's thought pattern and if you know them well enough it very easy." Sherlock answers with a blasé shrug.

John is about to inquire further when they arrive and Sherlock leaps from the cab.

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	6. At The Morgue

_**AN: Sorry about the update delay! I've got several other fics I'm working on in addition to a novel and "real life" responsibilities – So my updates will be sporadic and slow. But here's Molly – Finally! Sorry about how I ended it – but I felt that the chapter was kind of dragging and it seemed to be a good place to cut it off. Should be no more than a weeks wait for the next one though! Thanks to everyone who has favorited and reviewed!**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. John Watson has that honor.**

"Ah - Just who I was looking for." Sherlock says by way of greeting when he spots Molly heading down the hall as they exit the elevator to the morgue level of the hospital.

She spun about, with a startled look on her face, clipboard, papers and pens going flying. "Oh, god Sherlock. Hi - you - um, are you working here today?" she asks, attempting to hide her reddened face as she collects her scattered items.

John snatches up a few pens that had rolled their way as they approach her and hands it back. She accepts it with a quick smile, her blush deepening. "Oh - thank you."

"Yes. We've got a case." Sherlock says, answering her earlier question.

"Well yes - I mean - I figured that much out. There's no other reason you'd be here - unless you wanted to see someone - but you obviously don't - I mean -"

"Actually I do want to see someone." he says, cutting off her awkward rambling. John lets out a sigh when her face brightens and she inquires "Oh really? Who?"

"A Mr. Timothy Strackland. Should've gotten him in a couple of weeks ago." He explains with a facsimile smile.

'Oh - a body - right." she says, her face falling "Of course. I'll just uh - come on then." she mutters and ducks her head as she slips around them, heading back down the hall.

John lets out a heavy sigh and shoots Sherlock a look of reproach that he completely disregards with an innocent shrug and smile.

When they make it to the storage area of the morgue Molly has composed herself and pulls out the body for Sherlock to examine, stepping to the side to watch, twisting her hands together.

He gets right to it, pulling his small magnifying lens from his pocket and going over his fingers and wrist with it.

"I'll just - um - leave you to it then?" Molly says, with a sheepish smile when Sherlock doesn't even acknowledge her with a simple thanks.

Knowing Sherlock won't respond, John steps in saying "Thanks. We'll let you know if we need anything else."

"Right. Okay." she says, giving Sherlock a lingering look before scurrying out.

"Sherlock." John starts, but is cut off with a wave of Sherlock's hand, indicating a need for silence.

"Sherlock." he starts again, with an aggravated sigh. "You've got to stop doing that to her."

"Hmm?" is Sherlock's response as he circles around to the other side of the body. John catches him by the arm as he moved, grabbing his attention.

"Sherlock, seriously. It's not fair to her." He insists as Sherlock yanks his arm from John's hold.

"What are you talking about John?" he mutters in exasperation as he side-steps him and continues to his destination.

"Molly, Sherlock. You can't keep playing with her like this. I know it's the easiest way for you to get access to the bodies and such, but it's not good." John continues, his voice hardening as he reprimands him.

"I don't play with her." Sherlock argues, his hand waving away the accusation. "I ask her to do something and she does it."

"Yeah, but only because you give her that smile." John tosses back.

"It's not my fault that she is sensitive to facial expressions." He argues.

"Sherlock." John warns.

"Fine. Shall I scowl at her instead? Roll my eyes?" he shoots back in rhetorical exasperation.

"No. Just stop giving her false hope. If you're just trying to be friendly that's fine. Just don't act too friendly." John explains.

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy Dr. Watson?" Sherlock inquires, shooting him a side-long glance.

"Not in the least. This is for her sake, not mine." John argues, not allowing himself to be side-tracked by Sherlock jab.

"Hmmm. If you say so." he shoots back with a grin. He straightens quite suddenly and steps around John, heading for the door and tossing an order over his shoulder. "Text Molly. I need his possessions in the lab. There should be a ring."

Grumbling to himself hurries after him arguing, "I need your phone to do that. I don't have her number."

Sherlock slows so that they are walking side by side and says "My pocket."

"What? You can't be serious. Get it out yourself." John argues.

"It's just in my coat, John." Sherlock retorts in exasperation.

"Fine" he grumbles and reaches for the pocket closest to him.

"Other side." Sherlock corrects.

"Oh." he reaches his hand around Sherlock's back and fumbles to pull his phone out. Once he's extracted it he tosses Sherlock a grin saying "If you wanted a hug you could've just asked."

"It had nothing to do with a hug. It had to do with my phone." Sherlock argues.

"Right. Course it did." John says, with a knowing grin.

"And I wanted a hug I would've taken one." he argues as they reach the lab and he pushes the door open. He pauses, allowing John to go in first.

"You're getting better at this." John comments with a grin. Sherlock shoots it back and follows behind him, heading for the table and sorting out equipment, while John shrugs off his coat.

Molly arrives moments later with a bag of his possessions. "Found anything yet?" she asks, handing the bag over.

"Maybe." is Sherlock's neutral response as he takes the bag from her and dumps the contents on the table.

"Okay then." she says and then is gone again with a resigned sigh.

Sherlock pulls a class ring from the pile and grins "Ah - yes. Just as I thought." he murmurs, shoving the other evidence aside.

"I need something sharp." he commands, extending his hand.

"Oh - um" John casts his glance about for something, and it lands on a pair of scissors. He hands those over to Sherlock, who takes them with an impatient snatch and begins scraping something off the ring.

"What've you found?" John asks as he watches Sherlock collecting flakes into a Petri dish.

"Blood. There's blood on his ring." Sherlock explains.

"So? Isn't it his? From where he was clutching his wound or something?" John argues, recalling that one of his hands was entirely bloody in the photographs.

"No. There was slight bruising on his left knuckles. He punched his assailant and drew blood." Sherlock corrects.

"Oh! Fantastic!" John declares with a smile. A DNA result would certainly clear this case up a lot faster.

"Do shut up." Sherlock mutters, setting up a slide and preparing some of the flakes for testing.

"Love you too." John tosses back, before moving out of the way, to lean against the end of the table and watch Sherlock work. Sherlock works, setting up slides and preparing a few different mixtures for testing. John hasn't the foggiest idea what he's doing, but he loves watching Sherlock work anyway.

"Now it's just a matter of waiting for the slide to set and the results." Sherlock says, breaking the silence. "Can you text Molly and ask her to bring up some formaldehyde?" His command is poorly disguised as a request.

"Formaldehyde?" John questions.

"That's what I said isn't it?" Sherlock tossed back in exasperation.

"Yeah, I meant why?" John explains, with a sigh.

"I've got an experiment that I've been wanting to try. Since we're waiting around anyway..." he trails off with a shrug and flourish of his hands, prompting John to send the text.

"Right. Fine." he conceded and fishes Sherlock's phone from its place alongside his in his jean pockets. He misses the fact that Sherlock's eyes trailed his hands as he did so and alit with a strange glimmer.

"Unless you've got any other ideas." Sherlock suggests, allowing the shadow of a smirk to creep onto his face.

"Not really." John responds, completely missing Sherlock's tone and expression as he types a message to Molly.

Sherlock let's out a sigh. "John, I've often said that you're obtuse and that you fail to pick up on important subtleties, but this is usually one area that's your extremely observant in."

As John clicks send on the message he realizes what Sherlock is getting at and he quickly pushes down the sudden urge to shove Sherlock against the table and do something about that ridiculous smirk.

"Not here." His protest is meant for himself as much as it's meant for Sherlock, who is slowly moving towards him.

"And why not?" Sherlock questions with a grin that not entirely tame, invading John's space.

"It's a morgue." John grinds out, backing away to compensate, which turns out to be poor plan as he's soon bumping into the wall.

"How very astute of you, John." Sherlock murmurs with a hint of a smile coloring his voice, continuing closer to John.

He pressed his back further against the wall, raising his arms in a half-hearted attempt to push Sherlock away, weakly protesting "What about the case?"

Sherlock grins and easily shrugs John's hands off of him, claiming his personal space. "There won't be any fresh evidence until the slide is ready to examine. I'd rather do something useful with my spare time." he murmurs, noting the shiver it elicits from John.

His face is mere inches away. John can feel his breath, soft, steady puffs of air across his face. His mouth is slightly open as he leans in closer, narrowing the gap from inches to millimeters.

John's hands at are his side, clenched in fists. The muscles are tensed because he knows that if allows himself to relax for even one moment his arms will raise themselves. Instead of pushing Sherlock away like they should, they will wrap around him and pull him closer. They will tangle into his hair and angle his head for more access. They will trace patterns against his skin through his thin shirt.

And his mouth which should open and forcibly protest and line out the reasons snogging isn't an acceptable activity in a morgue, will instead emit a low moan and attack Sherlock's mouth instead.

Yes, better just to stay perfectly still and try and remember to breath. Just as Sherlock is closing the sliver of a gap between them his phone chimes out shrilly, cutting through the silence and tension of the moment.

John snaps back to himself and gently, but firmly pushes Sherlock away and digs the phone from his pocket. "It's Molly. She said it's take her a few minutes." he explains, handing the phone to Sherlock, to distract him more than anything.

"Ah, wonderful." he says, taking the phone and typing out a quick reply. He doesn't seem at all ruffled by their interruption or John's refusal.

It takes Molly almost thirty minutes to bring in the Formaldehyde and John's spent a large majority of that time listening to Sherlock's explanation of his recent experiments and the relevancy of his Formaldehyde experiment on a gruesome cold-case. Not the best way to spend a half-hour, but it's better than risking someone walking in on a more personal activity.

Molly enters to hear the tail end of the conversation and actually manages to engage Sherlock for a few moments with questions about the experiment, seeming genuinely interested. John allows himself a relaxed smile at this quirky and slightly macabre moment of camaraderie between the three of them. Once again a phone chime cuts through the moment.

It's his phone now and he digs it from his pocket wondering who could be texting him.

**1:32**

Where are you? Your shift started 20 min. ago.

_Sarah S._

"Damn." He mutters under his breath.

"John?" Sherlock inquires at his explicative.

"Sorry, just forgot that I agreed to work this afternoon. I can't skip out on this, already missed to many days." He explains, shooting Sherlock and apologetic glance as he types back a quick reply.

He slides the phone back into his pocket and shrugs his coat on. "I'll be home around 7:00. If you go dashing off after any criminals on your own please be careful." He says, and then thoughtlessly drops a kiss on Sherlock's cheek and darts out the door.

He's in such a rush that he doesn't even hear Molly's squeak of surprise at the action and it doesn't hit him until he's already hailed a cab exactly what he's done.

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	7. Molly

_**AN: Now to find out how Molly reacted to their news! Hopefully this works – I adore Molly too much to really hurt her, so I hope Sherlock doesn't seem too OOC in his dealing with the situation. And a small clue as to whom the murder is. More plot development in the next Chp.**_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. John Watson has that honor.**

Upon realizing his mistake John contemplated asking the cabbie to turn around, picturing himself rushing back down the halls, rescuing poor Molly and somehow fixing the situation. However he quickly decided against it. He simply cannot miss another day's work. And he's already late. He hates the thought that Sherlock will have to clean up his mess. But then he's done the same for Sherlock many times before, he reasons trying to lessen his remorse.

He flexes his left hand, fingers open, form fist. Fingers open, form fist as he tried to force down the clawing sensations of guilt building in his gut. The scene replayed in his mind. Kissing Sherlock, rushing down the hall and the sound of her shocked squeak seemed seared within his mind.

Not knowing what else to do he pulled his mobile from his pocket and typed out a quick message

**1:36**

Really sorry. Wasn't thinking (No comment necessary!) Please be nice to her!

_JW_

He hit send with a silent prayer that Sherlock would heed his advice, though realistically he knew that his message was probably too late to make any difference. Sherlock could tear Molly to shreds in seconds without even realizing what he was doing and then wonder why she scurried off nearly in tears.

John groaned, knowing that in all likelihood Sherlock might currently be giving her a detailed and methodical list of reasons as to why he chose John over her, thinking that if she understands the reasoning behind it she will be supportive of it. And with all his scientific detachment in doing so he's probably reducing her to tears as well.

"_Shit"_ John grumbles to himself, dragging a hand over his face, willing away the images of Molly's tear-stained face forming in his mind. Luckily for his conscience the ride ends moments later and he pays the cabbie, trying to force all thoughts of Sherlock and Molly from his mind and he enters the clinic.

That's accomplished when he is tugged quite forcefully into Sarah's office by his forearm. She berates him in a harsh whisper for being late, _again,_ while handing him a clipboard with his list of patients and appointments on it.

When he's dismissed he practically scurries to his office, as he scans the chart. Once there he quickly yanks his coat of it's hook in the cabinet and shrugs into it, while turning down the volume on his phone ringer. He settles into his chair behind his desk and allows his first patient be sent in. He had a half-second to realize that Sherlock hadn't responded to his text yet, and another quarter of a second to worry over that fact before his door open and his day begins.

The clinic is busier than usual, with a nasty stomach bug going around and Rugby injuries on the rise, so he hardly had a free moment to take a breath during the next three hours. If he had time to, he would be thankful for this distraction. At least he doesn't have time to feel guilty about his screw-up in the morgue. All his thoughts are on his patients until he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He's in the midst of examining the left ankle of a young boy, which seems to be twisted, so he doesn't get a chance to check it. But he's almost certain the text is a response from Sherlock and he allows himself to become sidetracked for a moment, wondering what the message contains. He forces his thoughts back to his patient with a firm shake of his head, scolding himself that the text can wait, and finished up the session. He's reaching into his pocket to extract his phone just as the next patient enters. He shoves it back down into his pocket and it's another half-hour before he has a chance to check it.

When he finally has a ten minute lag between patients, he digs it out of his pocket to find that Sherlock has sent him two messages. The most first that shows is the most recent

**2:24**

Neutrophil count.

_SH_

He vaguely recalls the term as having something to do with blood but he is too frazzled to absorb its significance. Undoubtedly something to do with the case, hopefully a breakthrough. The older text, a response to his earlier one, is far to blasé to be encouraging.

**1:38**

I'm always kind to her.

_SH _

John grumbles a few choice explicatives at that message, because Sherlock really can be a complete dunce at times. But there is nothing for him to do, so he simple types back a quick message.

**3:10**

Of course you are. Take it you've made a breakthrough on the case. You can tell me more when I get home. Two more hours left on shift.

_JW_

He presses the send button and stows it away in his pocket, before letting the next patient in.

Two and a half hours later he finally arrives back at Baker Street with a throbbing headache and a craving for a very, _very_ strong cup of tea. He ascends the stairs, calling hello to Mrs. Hudson and wandering if wondering if Sherlock is home. The thought of his mistake at the morgue and hoping that he wouldn't have to work damage control with Molly sharpens his headache and he pushes it aside as he reaches the top of the stairs.

He opens the flat door to find Sherlock typing away at his laptop and is graced with a quick smile at the sound of his entrance, before Sherlock returns to his work. He hangs his coat and wanders over to drop a quick kiss on Sherlock's curls before moving onto the kitchen to make tea. As the kettle boiled he waits for Sherlock to bring up his exit from the morgue. He's sure Sherlock has some acerbic jab on the tip of his tongue about "Acting normal around Molly" or "So much for not wanting her to find out the wrong way."

But the only sound from the living room is the clicking of the keys and Sherlock's quiet muttering as he types. John pours the steaming water over his tea bag and wanders back into the living room, before finally relenting to his curiosity.

"So – how – um, did the rest of your afternoon go?" he inquires, settling into his chair.

Sherlock remains silent for several moments and John is about to repeat his question when Sherlock finally responds. "The Neutrophil count in blood varies from male to female." He says, with a distracted tone.

John nods, unsure of what relevance that has, and waits for the rest of Sherlock's line of thought. When Sherlock doesn't continue with his explanation he prompts "So….

Sherlock finally looks up from the screen and exhales a soft sigh of exasperation. " So, I've determined the gender of our murder. A key factor in the line of investigation." And then he resumed his work.

John groans and rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll ask directly then, since _you_ want to play some sodding game. What is the relevance of the blood and what happened to Molly?" He snaps out, a bit harsher than intended.

His sharp tone earns him a mildly surprised and remonstrative look from Sherlock, but he answers anyway "The murder was a woman." John waves a hand to cut him off at his first sentence but Sherlock ignored him and continues " And Molly is having coffee with Lestrade next Tuesday. I must admit, your method of informing her was rather unexpected, but she took it fairly well."

John stops him there, questioning "Wait – what? Back up. Our killer is woman?"

Sherlock gives a delicate snort of exasperation. "Yes, John. Female. Lestrade's following an incorrect lead, per usual, despite my findings."

It seems as though there is some sort of delay in their communication, because as he is answering about the case John is absorbing his answer about Molly. "What do you mean coffee with Lestrade?" he asks. "And what do mean she took it well?"

Sherlock shuts the laptop with an irritable huff. "Would you care to settle on one line of questioning or shall we continue playing this verbal sort of leapfrog?" he snaps in exasperation.

If John wasn't feeling so tetchy from his headache and afternoon then he probably would've laughed at Sherlock's reference. He deleted the solar system but not a child's game? However, in his current state the jab is met with an eye roll and a sigh. "Right. Fine. Tell me what happened with Molly." He answers decisively

Sherlock inclines his head in mocking acquiescence. "After your affectionate departure she emitted an odd sort of squeaking noise, simply from surprise. I glanced up at the unusual sound and saw her standing, seemingly frozen in place. I inquired if she was alright." Sherlock begins to explain, standing to pace as he recounted the events.

"She nodded, but didn't respond vocally. I stood and went over to her and asked again if she was alright, since her response was uncharacteristic. She finally responded in a very hesitant tone" Sherlock pauses for a moment, before speaking in a surprisingly accurate mimic of Molly

"So – you – uh- you and John then? You're – um- officially together – as a couple I mean?"

John drums his fingers against his tea cup as he listening, awaiting the inevitable account of Sherlock unknowingly upsetting her and her running off in tears.

Sherlock takes no notice of his pessimistic thoughts and continues "I responded with an affirmative and she inhaled sharply. It sounded similar to the noise you make when you're about to become angry."

. "I don't think she was angry though Sherlock." John argues, but he is silenced with a sharp glare from Sherlock.

"The only response I could think of was to offer her psychical comfort, since that is typically the appropriate reaction when you display signs of anger." he continues, ignoring John's protest.

John's eyebrows shoot up in surprise at this and he finds himself relaxing a bit. Maybe he should've had a bit more faith in Sherlock.

"I offered her a hug, and though awkward I believe it sufficed. She seemed to calm and began to laugh. She said that she thought we were probably falling for each other and that it would only be a matter of time. She then told me to thank you." Sherlock finishes with an affable shrug.

"For what?" John asks, flabbergasted that Molly would want to _thank_ him of all things. Crying he can see. Screaming at him or hitting him even, but thanking him is completely unprecedented in his mind. Women are strange creatures.

Sherlock easily explains it though, saying "Her words were"

He pauses, for a moment, wanting to recall her exact phrasing

"Tell John thank you for me – if you don't mind that is. It's just - . Now that he's taken you off the market, so to speak, I can move on with my life – or dating at least. I - I think I'll call Greg up and ask him out to coffee next week or something. He was great at the party." Sherlock relays.

A smile dawns on John's face as he listens and his entire body sags with relief. No tears. No anger. No degrading comments from Sherlock. Halleluiah.

"After that she smiled and returned to her work. I finished out my experiments, got the results and returned to the flat. I've texted Lestrade my findings, but he hasn't responded yet." Sherlock finishes.

"So, hang on – how do you know she and Lestrade are going for coffee next Tuesday?" John inquires

Sherlock responds with an eye-roll that tells John the answer is obvious. "Lestrade has Tuesdays off every other week. He only makes appointments on his days of because they're the only days he can guarantee his attendance. And you saw how he ogled her at the party last winter. He'll certainly accept her invitation."

John grins and shakes his head almost disbelievingly at Sherlock's explanation. "That never gets old." He murmurs with a laugh. It's always so perfectly simple once it's explained.

Sherlock quirks an eye-brow in confusion and John waves it away. "Nothing. Never mind. So what's this about the case, then?"

As if on some sort of strange cue Sherlock's phone chimes just a John is voicing his question. Sherlock whisks it from it's place on the table and scans the message quickly.

"Lestrade. Wants us to go down to the Yard so I can explain my findings in person." He explains, already heading towards the door to pull on his coat.

John's shoulder sag at that and he doesn't bother trying to suppress his groan at the thought of moving from his chair.

"Can't he come here instead?" he grumbles, though already setting his tea aside and stirring from his seat.

He meant it as a rhetorical complaint and is surprised to see Sherlock typing it out as a response instead of wrapping his scarf around his neck and trying to hurry him along.

"Oh – You – It's not that big a deal. We can go down." He protests, with a wave of his hand but Sherlock has already hit send.

"I'd rather him come here as well. I'm in no mood to contend with the flock of imbeciles that frequent the Yard." Sherlock responds with a shrug, removing his coat.

Sherlock's phone chimes with another text seconds later. "Ah – excellent." Sherlock says with a smile as he reads. "He'll be here in about twenty minutes." John collapses gratefully back into his chair at that.

_**If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway.**_

_**KP**_


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